


Never to Be Told

by orphan_account



Category: Journey into Mystery
Genre: Gen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:50:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4182249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, she makes books. She does not do it again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never to Be Told

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sevenofspade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenofspade/gifts).
  * Inspired by [In the end](https://archiveofourown.org/works/782456) by [sevenofspade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenofspade/pseuds/sevenofspade). 



Leah finds the book by the edge of a stream, racing blue and orange through a field of red. She picks it up cautiously; she does not remember creating a book, or dreaming one. She has not thought of books in ages. Or maybe it has only been seconds.

But it’s fitting that one is here now.

She opens it, not sure what she expects. This world before time is strange, and though she controls it, it remains ever unpredictable, just as she is. 

Inside, there is nothing. This too is not unexpected. The world is her slate for creation, barren without her. The book should be barren as well. She sits by the stream, and upon sitting, notices a pen beside it. She picks it up, then hesitates.

Stories are dangerous. She knows that better than most. And books more dangerous still. But she sets the pen to page anyway. What is there to harm here, at the beginning of all things?

*

First, she writes of sorrow. After all, at first, all she knew was sorrow, and anger. Anger at her fate, anger at the lies, the deceptions. Anger at not being told, _again_ , at being manipulated, _again_ , at being left alone.

Again.

 _Once_ , she writes, _there was a girl who sat by the stream alone. She wrote, because she had no one else to talk to. And she did not think of-_

She slams the book shut. This is not a story she wishes to write anymore.

*  
Days and weeks and eons pass, before Leah finds the stream again. This time it runs bluer still, with faint lines of gold in the waters. The book is still there, and Leah wants to ignore it, but something draws her to it. Foolish, she thinks. She knows it will not bring her happiness.

She sits by the stream, and she writes of joy. Leah of Hel had never known anything but servitude and duty. But then she had met a boy, a nasty trickster of a boy. And she’d hated him, of course. Everyone did. But with him, she’d smiled, sometimes. And even felt stirrings that might be-

 _Once_ , she writes, _there was a girl and a boy. They went to a shop, and the boy bought a milkshake. The girl drank his milkshake, and the boy was angry. But the girl knew he was laughing, and she almost laughed too._

She drops the book by the dream and leaves. 

*  
The next time she picks the book up, mere seconds have passed. Or so it seems, yet the stream runs blood red now, in a field of blue flowers. Leah knows now the story she wants to write. She does not need the boy. 

So she writes, _there was a girl. Her name was Leah of Hel. At the beginning of things, she creates a world, great and wondrous and terrible. It is her own world. Someday, it might be Hel. And someday, she might be Hela. But today, she is herself._

Leah nods in satisfaction. This story is good and right and true. This is who she is.

*  
And that should’ve been the end of writing, after all. But Leah is ever tempted back to the stream, now cold and dark and shot with stars. It’s so dark now she can barely find the book, nestled safely in the tall grass just next to a large boulder. It’s too dark to see, now, so she summons a light, green and sickly, and begins to write.

Leah writes, _there was a boy. His name was Loki of Asgard. At the end of things, he destroys a world, great and wondrous and terrible._

Except no, that’s wrong. She crosses out the words.

_At the end of things, he destroys himself to save a world, great and wondrous and terrible. It isn’t his world. It hates hims. Now, he is Loki. And he was Loki. And he will always be Loki._

_Why did Loki do it?_

She throws the book into the stream. She doesn’t care.

*  
She finds the book again at the edge of a lake, pink clouds reflected in silver water, carried there by the stream. She’s surprised it’s still intact, not dissolved into the water. She almost walks past, ignoring it entirely, but something compels her to pick it up. 

She sits at the edge of the lack, letting her toes drag in the water, and writes, _at the beginning of all things, one day Leah of Hel wakes up to find her BFF, Loki, standing over her. He’s smiling, and she thinks he’s probably up to something. But then, he wouldn’t be Loki if he weren’t up to something. He tells her his story, and she tells him he’s foolish for taking such risk. She pretends to be angry, but when his back is turned, she smiles. The rest of the day, they lay in the field of long grass and flowers under the shade of a tree. They don’t talk much, but then, they don’t need to._  
Leah sets the pen down, and the book next to it. It’s a beautiful dream. And as a dream, it will always be pure and clean and cut like a blade of silver.

She stands and walks away.

*  
The sky is red when she comes back to the lake, and the water looks like it’s on fire. She writes quickly now, _once there was a girl named Leah and a boy named Loki. They fought against Surtur, and triumphed in the end, winning the appreciation of all the nine realms. And they lived happily ever after._

The story shines in the crimson light. It’s the story she should have wanted, maybe did want, once. But she knows that it’s fool’s gold. And Leah of Hel is not a fool.

She leaves the red lake behind, and vows never to return.

*  
But something of Loki must have been left with her, for her promises, even to herself, as inconstant as the trickster god himself. She returns to the lake, after mountains have risen and fallen across the world, and many moons have brightened and dimmed in the sky. She picks up the book.

 _Once_ , she writes. 

She stares across the lake. She drops the book.

*  
Leah of Hel is alone.


End file.
